For Arthur's Sake
by artypendragon
Summary: Merlin thinks Arthur taking a wife is an egregious, unacceptable idea. Arthur wants him to realise why.


"I've been thinking," Arthur begins one day, sitting up in bed and exasperatedly waving off Merlin's surprised eyebrow at the _thinking_ part, "that I need a wife."

A wintery chill descends over Merlin's chest, but he stubbornly ignores it as he places Arthur's breakfast tray down near the bed. "Why now?"

"Why not?" Arthur is looking at him closely, searching.

"You've functioned perfectly well without a wife until now, I mean," Merlin says, turning away from Arthur and ducking behind the changing screen to stop Arthur from seeing the glower on his face. "Surely the king isn't pressuring you for an heir already."

"It's not for my father that I want to do this," Arthur says, "and does it really take you so long to pick up my clothes?"

Merlin hurries back out to see Arthur picking up a bowl of grapes and pursing his lips.

"Not in the mood?" Merlin inquires. For grapes. Obviously.

"You can have them." Arthur holds out the bowl. "Sit down."

"Why do you need a wife, then?" Merlin gladly piles Arthur's laundry near the door and joins Arthur at the breakfast table. It had now become their custom to share breakfast every morning (as in, Arthur had tired of seeing Merlin sneak off with Arthur's less-favourite foods and ordered him to do so plainly), and Merlin had all but given up the idea of never having sumptuous breads and cheeses in the morning from then on.

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur snaps, " _why_ do you care so much?"

"Sire, as your servant and repast-partaker, I consider it my duty to inform you whenever I think you're making a monumentally stupid decision as you are wont to do—"

Arthur rolls his eyes. Merlin hides a smile behind a large bite of an apple.

"Look, stupid decision or not I'll have to marry some day, you know. Might as well do it now."

"Doesn't King Uther want to dangle you in front of the other kingdoms still?"

"You can't talk about my father like that," Arthur starts. It's Merlin's turn to roll his eyes. Arthur sits back, defeated.

"I haven't yet conferred with him on this," he sighs. "You're the first one I told."

"I'm duly flattered, sire," Merlin says, pressing a hand to his chest in mock-delight. "But you'd be better off forgetting about wives for now."

Arthur looks at him for a long while, hopelessly bewildered, as Merlin sunnily helps himself to Arthur's most hated berries.

"How is it any of your business what I decide to do with my life?"

Merlin stops short.

"You don't need a wife," he says slowly, "because you aren't king yet, so you don't need an heir yet, and if it is to partake in pleasures of the body—" Arthur chokes at this—"there is no maid or stableboy in the castle unwilling to shed their clothes for you, if only you would ask."

Something pierces him in the stomach as he says the last part, but he doesn't stop and mull that over.

"Merlin," Arthur says. "That's not—you—you really don't—why are you so dismissive of this?"

Merlin is suddenly uncomfortable.

"I don't know," he says, not looking at Arthur. "I just don't think you should jump into such a momentous chapter of your life without reason."

"And what if the reason were that I want to find love?" Arthur asks, hesitant for some reason. "Would you deny me permission for that as well?"

"What?" Merlin asks, scandalised, dropping the remains of his grape bunch back into the bowl. "Haven't you told me endless times that my opinion is worth less than a copper coin to you? Why would you take me seriously for _this_ of all things?"

"Why wouldn't I, considering I came to you before my own father?"

"Wait," Merlin says, confused, "are we actually _fighting_ over this?"

Arthur shrugs helplessly, looking disappointed. "I just want to know why you're so vehemently opposed to my finding a wife."

Merlin's shoulders droop. "I don't know. I just don't want you to get married for nothing, I suppose. Would you really be happy if you did this?"

Arthur gazes at him for a long while, again.

"Would you?" he says.

Merlin is shocked into speechlessness. As if he matters!

They finish Arthur's breakfast together, and Merlin helps Arthur into his garb for the day. Neither of them speaks a word.

* * *

Merlin's frown doesn't budge from his forehead as the day passes, and Gwen and Morgana more than once glance at him at dinner as he refills Arthur's wine goblet far more often than necessary (well, Arthur's drowning in it today, when he would normally only sip at it).

"Father," Arthur says, interrupting Uther's conversation about the summer heat and herbal remedies with Gaius and a couple of the other courtiers.

Uther turns to him, eyes going to the empty goblet in Arthur's hand and the wine stains on the cloth below it. His jaw clenches, but only Merlin, who knows what's coming, perceives it.

"What?"

"I apologise for interrupting you, but I wished to inform you that I intend to take a wife in the near future."

The entire room is stunned into silence. Gaius looks shell-shocked. He _never_ looks shell-shocked.

"Are you in your right mind?" Uther says eventually, disapproving.

"Yes, father," and sure enough, Arthur's voice isn't the least bit representative of his copious drinking.

Merlin for once prays he and Uther think alike. Arthur marrying is a _bad_ idea. He doesn't need anyone. Arthur's fine as he is. He doesn't need an heir yet. He can remain unmarried and he can remain promised to his kingdom instead of some unknown person who would take up all his time and steal his attention and cause his fond smiles—

"What about your—why?" Uther asks, eyes fixed on Arthur's not-quite-shaking hand on the table.

"I merely wish to have someone to love, to devote my heart to, to treasure for the rest of my life," Arthur answers, foolhardily sincere. Merlin scowls, unable to help it. Uther's eyes flick up to him, at Arthur's side. His gaze is unfathomably wary, speculative, for some reason.

"And you believe… a marriage will give you this?"

"I assumed you would be amenable to this, father," Arthur says, tilting his head in perplexity.

Uther grimaces. No one dares move in the room. Morgana's spoon is frozen on its way to her mouth. Gwen cannot take her eyes off Merlin, a frustratingly knowing look on her face that Merlin can't figure out.

"It's merely a rather hasty decision you're making, Arthur, when we could have discussed this years later," Uther ventures, "but of course, if you're absolutely sure about this, let us convene again tomorrow to talk over potential brides."

Merlin drops his wine jug onto the table with a large clang. A burgundy stain spreads across the cloth, threatening to extend to Arthur's breeches. Arthur jumps up and away to avoid any splashes, knocking into Merlin and sending him to the floor.

"Merlin," he exclaims, "you gormless fool, come on." He grabs Merlin, hauls him up, and leads him out of the room by the scruff of his neck while the room, having erupted into chaos, is too taken with the sheer number of maids and menservants rushing to salvage the tablecloth.

Merlin can feel four pairs of eyes on the back of his head, and ducks his head in something resembling shame as he lets Arthur's warm hand drag him away.

* * *

"What the hell, Merlin?" Arthur says in the safety of his chambers, locking the door behind him.

"My hand slipped," Merlin offers lamely.

Arthur looks wretched as he leans against the door.

"I _will_ get married soon," he says. "Regardless of whatever you think of my choice, and however you show it."

"But you don't have to," the words burst out of Merlin, "you don't have to yet, Arthur, and only a month ago you were adamantly saying you would rather die than get hitched to someone you don't even want to be with—"

"I changed my mind, Merlin, that's what people tend to do! I do want to spend my life with someone whom I could grow to love. Did you think I wouldn't ever desire what Guinevere has with Lancelot, what Morgana is starting to have with Leon, what—what my father had with my mother?"

Merlin has no answer. He stands in the centre of the room, miserable.

"I thought you wanted me to be happy," Arthur mutters.

"I do," and this is one thing Merlin is sure about. "I do want you to be the happiest man in all Albion, sire. _Arthur._ "

Arthur clenches his jaw and looks at Merlin, defeated. "Is that all?"

Merlin smiles sadly, sure that Arthur is going to dismiss him for the night, and that he will return to his tiny room in Gaius's chambers and have a good, long cry. He doesn't yet understand why it bothers him so much, but he needs to have a clear mind first to think about it.

"You have people here that can make you happy the way you want," he says, before Arthur can get in another word. "You don't need to promise your life away for the mere _hope_ that you will find it."

"Do I? Have people here to make me happy like that?" A sparkle flashes across Arthur's eyes and he straightens and stares at Merlin.

"Of course," Merlin says. "Who in Camelot in their right mind wouldn't love the brave and charming Prince Arthur, the annoying git who likes to throw his servant in the stocks for no good reason and then go down and laugh at him, the man who would sacrifice his life for the people who care about him, the man who suppresses all his desires to please everyone around him, the man who is treasured by everyone around him, and I mean it, Arthur, everyone treasures you, everyone loves you, even _I_ do, can you imagine, and. Oh. Oh, I love you. I love you, Arthur. I know your idea of my copper-coin opinion, but don't. Please don't get married, Arthur, I love you, and I will give up everything I have for your happiness but _you_ yourself. Please let me be selfish about this. Please don't—please. I am worth nothing to you, but. Please."

All the energy is drained from Merlin with that epiphany of a confession. Everything makes too much sense, now, for him to face it head on. He hangs his head, wondering when the hell he gave his heart to his prat of a prince, master, friend.

"Merlin," he hears, and when he raises his head, Arthur is right in front of him, smiling and stealing Merlin's breath away.

"I wish I could explain how long I've wanted to know if you felt that way towards me," Arthur says softly, cupping Merlin's jaw with his hand. "Worth _nothing_ to me? You great idiot. You fool."

"Are you saying what I think you're—"

A loud knock on the door breaks Merlin off. Merlin and Arthur both gawk at it. No one would usually disturb Arthur at this hour; especially after the bombshell he dropped that evening.

Arthur steals a glance at Merlin, then a kiss that makes Merlin's legs melt, and goes to answer the knock.

Merlin looks over Arthur's shoulder to find the king himself standing in Arthur's doorway.

"Father," Arthur says, but Uther is looking over Arthur's shoulder, too, staring straight at Merlin. Something in Merlin's expression satisfies him, for Uther refocuses on Arthur and says shortly,

"No more talk about marriage for a while, do you understand?"

Arthur almost trips over himself to agree with Uther. "Yes, of course, father, I apologise and regret to say I was extremely inebriated when I made that request—"

Uther raises a hand. "Enough," he says, shaking a head in amused exasperation. "We do indeed all want to see you happy, Arthur—" Merlin's eyes widen, King Uther Pendragon is a bloody eavesdropper— "and clearly the man to do it is standing behind you and gaping like a fish."

"You don't—a servant—"

With a wry twist of his mouth, Uther says, "You're not the first nobleman to be smitten by a peasant, Arthur," and leaves as suddenly as he had turned up.

"Was that really your father?" Merlin says weakly. Arthur shakes his head in wonder.

"Let us… not look a gift horse in the mouth."

"No," Merlin eagerly agrees, "We have better things to do," and Arthur's answering smile lights up Merlin's eyes.

* * *

 **Note:** This was written as a fill for a prompt at KinksOfCamelot on LJ. Do check it out if you haven't already! I hope you liked this fic. Please let me know what you thought!


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